Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,50

too. My bedroom’s not really used to having repeat visitors.” He grinned, but it quickly fell into something more serious as he cleared his throat.

I sighed. “So…what do we do?”

Lifting my hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each knuckle. “Why don’t we just sort of roll with it. Let’s see how we feel—do what it is we want to do, but if you get uncomfortable, you have to talk to me, Shelby. You say stop, and I will. No questions asked, okay? It doesn’t need to be a big thing. We can just…go back to playing Scrabble or whatever.”

I laughed at that. “Scrabble? When did we turn ninety?”

He laughed as well, dropping an indignant jaw at my response. “Scrabble is awesome—my nanny and I used to play all the time. And actually it’d be a great French lesson.”

I grinned, relief washing over me. “So, what happened to the French themed food? You slackin’ off on me, Tate?” I nudged him, moving into the living room.

“Not even a little.” He lifted the box of Mellow Mushroom pizza with a flourishing hand gesture. “French bread pizza. Pour vous, mademoiselle.”

I wandered over to the TV, avoiding the eye contact that made my stomach flop around in my belly like a caught fish. “Do you always go to such lengths for your tutees?”

He shifted, grabbing a slice of pizza as the movie credits rolled and moving to the couch, taking the opposite end from me like he was intentionally putting a chasm of distance between us. “Considering the only two people I’ve tutored in the world are you and Sophia, I’d say no. You are definitely special.”

I couldn’t hide my smile, as Tate stared at me, so I took a bite of pizza instead, nodding. Only, his eyes didn’t stray from my face. “What?” I asked, wiping a hand over my mouth? Did I have sauce on my jaw? Cheese? Parmesan stuck to my Chap Stick?

He shook his head, finishing the rest of his slice with a gigantic bite. “Nothing,” he said, popping off of the couch. “Want any espresso?”

“Coffee and pizza? How very—”

“European?” He put fisted hands to his hips in a mock superhero way and gave me a lopsided grin.

“I was going to say weird.”

“If you mean weirdly delicious, then you are right on. So…yes to espresso?”

I sighed, shrugging. “Why not?” I turned my attention back to the movie; I knew the plot pretty well, but even still, it was a struggle to understand each line. They spoke so damn quickly.

There was some clanking around behind me in the kitchen, when suddenly the screen froze. I jerked around to find Tate with the remote pointed at the TV. He raised an eyebrow, tamping down some espresso grounds into a metal thing. “Go,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“But is an English word.”

Fuck. What was the last line that was said? Something about…qu’il aime et pop les bulles d’emballage en plastique? Soooo, he likes plastic? No, that’s not right. He likes…popping plastic? Bubbles! He likes popping plastic bubbles. “Qui n’aime pas surgissants bubble?”

“‘Who doesn’t like popping bubble wrap?’” Tate repeated my response, and his lips slipped into a soft smile. “Not bad.” He slid back onto the couch beside me, a little closer this time, but still far enough away that if I stretched my arm, I’d barely touch him. Even that made my pulse race. “But also not great. That took too long to get a response—and I think it was a result of you not paying close enough attention.” He handed me the steaming espresso. “Are you distracted, Shelby?”

“How can I not be?” I took a sip and nearly choked on the bitterness and strength of the brew. “Holy shit,” I coughed. “That’s like motor oil.”

Tate shrugged. “International business major? You better learn to drink espresso like the Europeans. Sans lait.”

Damn him. I hated that he was right. “I’m going to be up for hours,” I grumbled.

He licked his lips, looking away, and I thought I saw his cheeks flush the tiniest bit. Then again, maybe it was the motor oil he was sipping. “I bet we can find ways to fill the time.” With that, he leaned back and hit play. “And if you pass tonight’s lesson, we can watch Midnight in Paris after.”

…

I made it through all of Amelie and about half of Midnight in Paris before my eyelids fell. I must have drifted off sometime in the middle of the movie because when I opened my eyes, Owen